


Hide You Face So The World Will Never Find You

by LesAmis_Emily



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 22:46:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3226328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesAmis_Emily/pseuds/LesAmis_Emily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Masquerade AU no one asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hide You Face So The World Will Never Find You

Courfeyrac had no idea how he ended up at the masquerade. One minute he was walking through the streets of Paris, the next he was slipping a mask onto his face, entering into a room of faceless bodies.

Before slipping on his mask, he took a moment to examine it. It was a bit more complex than the other masks he’d seen, which were all the traditional ones. The mask still covered the area around his eyes and his nose, but on the left side, the mask swirled up into three claw-like, rounded spikes, the tallest closest to his the middle of the forehead. The base of the mask was a creme color that would fade into white, like the artist had run out of paint midway through. Complicated gold swirls danced around the mask, from the spikes to around the eye, raised up from the actual mask, calling attention to itself. In between the eye holes and the swirls was a dark blue paint, very uneven, but beautiful at the same time. Up the middle spike and under the right eye was a blue and gold checkered pattern, the diamond shaped sections making the colors look even more like jewels. To tie it all off, quite literately, was a dark blue ribbon, almost black, that wrapped around the back of his head, tied in a quick knot.

Courfeyrac took a deep breath and entered the ballroom. His breath was immediately taken away. Hundreds of people occupied the ballroom which seemed to be bigger than a football stadium, in masks, ball dresses, and tuxedos, like himself. Most of the people were dancing, smiles lighting up their face, which strangely seemed to include the masks. Tables surrounded the dance floor, draped with white table cloths, and blue and gold centerpieces swirling up, threatening to fall at any moment, though it never did. It reminded Mat of his mask, complicated, but beautiful and intriguing.

No one sat at the tables, however. People would weave their way through them, dragging or being dragged by whomever they were dancing with before, but no one ever sat down.

Except one person.

This one person, was Combeferre. He was dressed in a tuxedo identical to every other man in the room, and like everyone else, had a mask.

His mask, however, had the same shape as Courfeyrac's, unlike every other one in the room. Though instead of blue and gold, Combeferre's mask had red where Courfeyrac’s had blue, and silver where Courfeyrac had gold. Instead of a creme base, his mask was black as the night outside, specks of silver poking out like the stars that so often did. Silver ribbons kept the mask from falling off his face.

He sat alone, not speaking, staring off into the void of dancers, dreaming of getting out there with someone and dancing, but he was too shy. Mat did not know that though; he thought that he was waiting for someone, or perhaps was stood up. So, being the kind soul he was, Courfeyrac walked over to the lone man.

“Hey,” he almost yelled over the sound of the ballroom musics.

“Hi,” the man replied, sitting up straighter, not expecting that someone was going to come and talk to him.

“How are you?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Fine,” Combeferre said. “How about yourself?”

“Just great,” he paused for a moment, then added, “How’d you find yourself at the masquerade?”

“Probably the same way you did. Walking by and felt compelled to go to it.”

“So you had no actual reason to be here. It was just an impulse.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, I thought you were waiting for someone,” Courfeyrac smiled, shifting in his chair.

“Nope, just me,” Combeferre looked sadly down at his laps, where he was playing with his fingers. “Is that a problem? Were you waiting for someone?”

“No. I was hoping you weren’t waiting for someone,” he stood up, offering his hand. “Would you care to dance?”

Combeferre pressed it with a smile, allowing himself to be dragged onto the dance floor.

-o-

When the two danced, time slowed down. Though they were only dancing for half an hour, it felt like three days, in the best kind of way.

Growing tired, the two left the dance floor, somehow finding themselves in the back garden, laughing on a stone bench together.

Silence soon fell between the two. “You know,” Combeferre said, looking up at the sky which was lit up with stars, “Your eyes shine just like all those stars up there.”

Courfeyrac blushed, looking over at the man who he spent the night dancing with, who looked back at him. The two collectively leans forward into a kiss. Courfeyrac took one hand and placed it on the taller man's cheek, holding them steady.

Combeferre suddenly pulled away. “I have to go.” He stood up and started running through the maze of the gardens, untying his mask as runs.

“Wait!” Courfeyrac calls, but he was too late. Combeferre was already through the sea of people dancing, his mask at Courfeyrac’s feet.

“I didn’t even catch your name,” he whispered, voice defeated.

-o-

The mysterious man did not come off of Courfeyrac’s minds for days. Who was he? Why did he have to leave? What happened?

He spent hours looking at the mask, which he discovered was identical to his except for the colors. Same size and shape.

But why?

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Phantom Of The Opera


End file.
